I'M ON THE RAG AND I'VE GOT A KNIFE!

Actually, I wanted to put a different name on this post. The title above could be seen as deliberately provocative (it is, but I'm denying that), and someone without a sense of humour might take it as offensive and sexist (recommendation: get a life).

What I actually wanted to place in bold letters above this post was:

BAREFOOT JESUS MEDICATED FOOT POWDER ™ ©


The reason for the Barefoot Jesus Medicated Foot Powder caption would have been the comments that I received on some previous posts from a gentleman named Lev.


EXHIBIT NUMBER ONE:
"Where, pray, is the footlong posting about medicated pedal powder? We demand a disquisition!"

EXHIBIT NUMBER TWO:
"I shall not even try to babel-fish what you wrote. It's all double Dutch, isn't it?"

EXHIBIT NUMBER THREE:
"Uom might be a correct spelling in Indonchina, for one of the ethnic languages especially. Ober mir given in gonzen nisht a hoot vos di tribals es pronuntsen voln, un vil konsekvently es vi 'wong' shriebn."

[The only thing that connects these disparate comments is that they are by the same author.]


I like meshune comments. They liven things up. Especially when there is an element of sheer gibberancy. Admittedly the quotes above were brutally ripped from their contexts, but they were invested with crystal-clear unbalance to begin with, trust me. Lev saw the train leave the station and ran with it. He is able to take an incidental theme and slam it so sideways that it takes over the field. The ball is fertilized, the penguin is on fire, and the wombat is in the house, so to speak. Wow.

How sad that I cannot lecture at length about medicated footpowder. Even though I obsess about the perfect footpowder - does not clump, feels silken and feathery, has a right balance of cornstarch, silica, calcium, and desiccants, in addition to disinfectants, mold retardants, aloe, and a topical painkiller - I have not much thought about the subject. My only "research" is trying out a bottle whenever I discover a new brand.

[There are several half-empty footpowder containers under my bed which will probably never be used again - the product clumped, or smeared and felt moist, or caked up. Inferior foot powders, not up to snuff. I have extremely high foot powder standards. So far Desenex powder seems the best.]


Powdered feet are happy feet.
Think of it as the confectioner's sugar on a bund cake.
When strangers ask me why my shoes have white dust on the tops, I tell them that I work in the post office.

[The explanation 'Desenex leak' is too 'high-concept' for most people.]

Other than that, I have nothing to say about foot powder.
Sorry, Lev, I cannot help you. Good luck finding a brand of medicated footpowder that meets your needs.

[That deals with exhibit number one. Exhibits two and three were put there merely to illustrate the charming yet contradictory chaos behind Lev's commenting.]



EXPLAINING THE TITLE

The caption which drew your attention in the first place really has to do with the other people at the charity where Savage Kitten volunteers on Sundays. It's a soup kitchen, and some of the folks who help prepare food are not entirely compos mentes or gifted conversationalists. Others are too Christian.
Savage Kitten is not nearly as tolerant of the peccadilloes of her fellow humans as you might have thought - my quirks she accepts because of either fierce lust for my hot middle-aged body or my sheer hug-worthy lovability, and she'll put up with the personalities of lobsters and crawdaddies because they are utterly delicious. Other than that, scant patience. She is not a very sociable person.
That may be why they have her trim the beef at a work station by herself.

One of her Sunday co-workers, however, was fooled by her appearance ('looks like a shy Cantonese girl with no life and a sweet personality'), and being an absolute bulb kept trying to strike up a conversation, several Sundays in row. Previously she had distracted him by handing him trays and telling them where to put them, or asking him to dispose of a pan full of bloody gristle and meat juices......

Yesterday, her patience hit empty and swung into negative. When he came over to talk, she simply snapped "I'm on the rag and I've got a knife!".

He avoided her for the remainder of the shift.


I'm horribly jealous. It's a great line, but no one would believe me if I used it.
Besides which, it wouldn't be quite as effective, as I am not that fierce.

She came back from the soup kitchen wreathed in smiles. Best volunteer Sunday ever.